


The Subtle Art of Seductive Pranking

by EveryDarkCorner



Category: The Harmatia Cycle - M. E. Vaughan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 21:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13326459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDarkCorner/pseuds/EveryDarkCorner
Summary: 'Arlen Zachary has managed to prank every single one of us no less than six times.  We break up for Christmas in a fortnight.  That gives us two weeks.  Two weeks to come up with a prank so hilariously, painfully, brilliantly ridiculous even Zachary won’t see it coming.'





	The Subtle Art of Seductive Pranking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MEVaughan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MEVaughan/gifts).



> Written for Madeleine for Christmas, and posted in celebration of yesterday's announcement that the Increasingly Inaccurately Titled Harmatia Trilogy will now be five books long. (Ish. Four and a half.)

Struggling under two armfuls of shopping, Fae dropped into a squat to open the front door.  It was something of an art form getting all the shopping inside in one trip, and she’d spent two and a half years at Harmatia University perfecting the technique.  It started with putting her keys in her mouth _just so_ as she exited the car, continued with her hauling absolutely all the shopping out the boot, and concluded with this particular juggling act: inserting the house key in the door and turning it with only her lips.

                She got the key in, and tilted her head to turn it—

                And Emeric opened the door.

                ‘You know you can knock,’ he said brightly.

                ‘Muh uhms uh fuh,’ Fae said, straightening.

                Emeric helpfully plucked the keys out of her mouth.

                ‘My arms are full,’ Fae said again, heaving the shopping into their shared student house.  It was dark in the hallway; the bulb must’ve gone again. Fae tripped on one of a dozen pairs of shoes piled by the door, and silently cursed every single occupant of the house.

                Offering his hand for the shopping, Emeric said, ‘Or you could make two trips.’

                ‘Two trips are for the weak.’  Fae slid a few bags off her wrist and into Emeric’s open palm.  ‘Is everyone in?’

                ‘Yep!’ Emeric followed her down the dingy hallway into the kitchen, bouncing on every step like a spaniel.  ‘Is Zachary taken care of?’

                ‘Shut up in the library with his study group of fellow miserable, morally-corrupt law students.’  The kitchen was brighter than the hallway, a dull gold light from the crap energy-saving bulbs installed in all the university-managed housing.  Fae hoisted her shopping bags up and deposited them on the worktop, flashing a grin at the people crowded around the table in the corner.  ‘I brought snacks, you animals.’

                ‘Next time, you could knock with your face,’ suggested Rufus, sitting at the head of the table, and then expertly caught the shiny red apple Fae tossed at his head.

                Luca, sitting at Rufus’s left, swept to her feet to help Fae unpack.  She tossed her dark plait over her shoulder as she scooped up cheese and crackers and grapes and crisps, piling them up on the table.  Emeric descended immediately on the crisps, stuffing a handful of Doritos in his mouth before catching Fae’s furious glare and shuffling over meekly to stuff perishables in the fridge.

                ‘Where’s Marcel?’ Fae said.

                ‘Upstairs,’ Emeric was shoulder-deep in the fridge, shoving carrots aside to make room, ‘finishing his neurophysics coursework.  He’s got so much to do still, he looked really frazzled this morning.’

                Fae, who’d never since Fresher’s Day seen Marcel look anything but faintly bored, made a vague noise of sympathy.  ‘He’ll have to come down soon.’

                ‘I’ll get him.’  Taking a bite of his apple, Rufus stood and hurried from the room.  A moment later, his footsteps pounded on the stairs—then more faintly on the second set of stairs leading to Marcel and Emeric’s shared attic bedroom.

                By the time Rufus returned with Marcel—looking, as he always did, quietly unruffled by the chaotic pace of student life—the others had packed the shopping away and sat waiting around the table, munching on Fae’s miniature feast.  Marcel took the free seat beside Emeric, and Rufus sat at the head of the table between Luca and Fae, which left only one seat conspicuously empty.

                Rufus cleared his throat.  ‘All right, you all know what this meeting is about.  Arlen Zachary.’

                There were serious nods from around the table.

                ‘The man is a menace,’ Rufus continued.  ‘He has managed to prank every single one of us no less than six times—’

                ‘Twelve and counting,’ Emeric mumbled, around a mouthful of Maltesers.

                ‘—and that’s not even taking into consideration the times he’s pranked our teachers—’

                ‘It took Professor Belphegore weeks to get that tip-ex phallus off his jacket,’ Luca mused.

                ‘—the kitchen staff—’

                ‘My taste buds still haven’t grown back after those scotch bonnet pizzas,’ Fae grumbled.  ‘Everything tastes of scotch bonnet.  Even water.  How can _water_ be spicy?’

                ‘—and, on numerous occasions, the entire student body,’ Rufus finished grandly.  ‘We all remember the live goats on the chapel roof.’  A chorus of agreeable muttering.  ‘And the time he got the gent’s toilets locked for a week for being “haunted”.  And the time he somehow hacked into the university comms emails, and sent out a snow day warning, causing half the students _and_ staff to miss exams, despite it being the middle of _May_.’

                Emeric’s face darkened.  He’d had to retake that exam two days ago.

                ‘So,’ Rufus spread his arms, ‘now we come to our mission.’

                Fae leaned in with a wicked grin.  ‘Revenge.’

                ‘We break up for Christmas in a fortnight,’ Rufus said.  ‘That gives us two weeks.  Two weeks to come up with a prank so hilariously, painfully, brilliantly ridiculous even Zachary won’t see it coming.’  He folded his arms.  ‘Let’s get started.’

 

* * *

 

 

Arlen Zachary woke up on the last day of term, turned over in bed, and immediately spotted the air horn taped to his door.

                Snuggling down into his pillows, he chewed the inside of his cheek and wondered who’d had the balls to try that.  Sure, he had a habit of letting the door bounce against the wall when he was in a hurry in the morning.  But did they really think he wouldn’t spot a dirty great scarlet air horn?  He practically _invented_ the air horn trick.

                He sat up slowly, and leaned over the bed to check the floor.

                Well, he had to give them credit.  They’d lined the floor around the edge of his bed with paper plates full of water, but hadn’t gone to the unnecessary stretch of covering the rest of the room.  Probably they thought he’d see the rest of the floor was clear, swing his feet down, and tread right in the ice-cold water.  Instead, Zachary stepped carefully over the plates, lifting them one at a time to toss the water out his bedroom window.

                He opened his drawers painfully slowly, and carefully removed the paper slips taped to each one—bangers, pilfered from the inside of Christmas crackers by the look of it, intended to make him jump when he ripped them apart opening his drawers.  He set them on his desk and got dressed slowly.

                _Someone’s trying to prank the prankster._

                He carefully pulled the air horn down from the door, weighed it in his hand, then opened the door and blasted it in Emeric’s face.

                Emeric dropped the pillow he was holding over his head and fell backwards with a terrified yelp.  Zachary sniggered, nudging the pillow with his toes.  ‘You were going to hit me with a pillow?  Have you _no_ imagination?’

                With another strangled yelp, Emeric scrambled to his feet and scurried away.  Eyes narrowed, Zachary followed him downstairs to the kitchen, hesitating at the doorway to duck beneath the clear sandwich wrap stretched across the frame at head height.

                Rufus turned from the stove as Zachary came in, giving him a wide grin.  ‘Morning.’  Emeric was cowering behind him.

                ‘I know what you’re doing,’ Zachary pointed a finger at him, ‘and you are going to fail.’

                Rufus shrugged, and lifted his frying pan.  ‘Eggs?’

                ‘What’s wrong with them?’

                ‘Jesus, you’re paranoid.’  Tipping the scrambled eggs onto two plates, Rufus grabbed a fork and scooped up a mouthful.  ‘Shee?  It’sh fine.’

                Zachary glared at him for a long time before sliding the other plate over, poking the eggs experimentally with his fork, and sniffing them.  _Chilli powder._   Of course.  Unlike Fae, Rufus was famously immune to hot food.

                ‘Nice try,’ Zachary growled, and got up to make cereal instead.

                Fae poked her head in the door.  ‘Morning.  Anything work yet?’

                Zachary shot her a loathing glare.

                She grinned.  ‘We’ll get you.  And if you’re looking for a bowl, you’ll have to wash one up.’

                Zachary’s paranoia was like a sixth sense.  And the longer Fae smiled innocently, the more that sixth sense tingled, like a thousand spiders marching down his spine in tan trench coats wearing dark glasses and peering over the top of newspapers.  He straightened, and headed to the sink, staring it over.

                First, he twisted the nozzle on the tap to face down, instead of pointing right up at his face.  Then he unscrewed it, and shook out the coffee powder someone had stuffed up there to turn the water brown.  Screwing it back in, he reached for the soap and—

                _Wait._   The soap was green yesterday.  Generic Tesco’s own washing up liquid.  Today, it was clear, the sticker peeled off, leaving ragged white scraps behind.

                Zachary glanced back over his shoulder at Fae and Rufus.  Luca had now joined Fae in the doorway, beaming brilliantly.  Turning back to the washing up liquid, Zachary glared at it, as if he could force it to reveal its secrets with his stare alone.  Then, with a shrug, he resorted once again to checking with his nose.

                _Strawberry._   He arched an eyebrow.  ‘Lube?’

                Rufus raised his own eyebrows.  ‘No!’ he said, with exaggerated surprise.  ‘Is it?’

                ‘First of all,’ Zachary said, ‘screw every one of you for taking my breakfast away from me.  And second, let me be absolutely clear: _you cannot prank me_.  You can’t.  It is impossible.  And third—’ he crossed the room in a few short strides, ‘—I’m going to the library.’

                From the way they all sagged, Zachary guessed they couldn’t possibly have booby-trapped the library as well as the house.  He slipped upstairs to grab his laptop and shrug on his coat, and found Rufus, Fae, Luca and Emeric waiting in the downstairs hall.  At least Marcel hadn’t been drawn into their nonsense.  Good old Marcel.  Good old sensible, boring Marcel.

                Zachary opened the door, picked up his shoes and tipped the Rice Crispies out of them onto the front lawn.  Behind him, Emeric let out a tiny wail.  For good measure, Zachary banged the shoes together a few times, watching with satisfaction as the last few yellow puffs fell out.  Then he pulled his shoes on and went outside, stepping carefully over the plastic dog poo laid out on the path.

                ‘See you later,’ he said, and waved over his shoulder at their miserable, defeated faces.

 

* * *

 

 

Marcel was in the library, tucked in the quiet corner with his head buried in textbooks.  Zachary glanced over them before he sat down, and felt his eye twitch.  There was barely a word on the page with fewer than nine letters.  And people complained Zachary’s law course was tough.

                Taking a seat at Marcel’s side, Zachary pulled out his laptop and booted it up.  Marcel glanced up from his textbooks, and looked entirely unsurprised to see Zachary’s home screen turned upside down.

                Zachary pulled out his mouse with a sigh, flipped it over, and peeled off the photo of Rufus’s grinning face taped to the bottom.  The old block-the-laser trick.  So passé.  Zachary used to do that in secondary school.  Plugging the mouse in, Zachary turned to his screen and with a few short clicks, turned it up the right way up.

                ‘I gather nothing else worked either?’ Marcel murmured.

                ‘Don’t tell me you’re in on this crap.’  Bending his head, Zachary scowled over his coursework.

                ‘I’m surprised,’ Marcel said, not looking surprised at all.  ‘I expected you to enjoy all the pranks—being connoisseur yourself.’

                Zachary spent another minute staring blankly at his coursework.  Funny how, after long enough, the letters stopped seeming to make words, and became little symbols all of their own.  Little pictures.  Hieroglyphics.

                Finally, he sat back, throwing his hands up.  ‘They’re just so _unimaginative_!  It’s like they just Googled “Funniest Pranks” and picked the oldest tricks they could find.  A real prank takes _ingenuity_.  You have to know your victim.  You have to know what’s the most ridiculous thing they could possibly fall for, and then know how to make them believe something _more_ ridiculous than that.  You can’t just tape sandwich wrap across the doorway and hope they run into it.’

                Marcel arched one eyebrow, and didn’t look up from his textbook.  ‘Noted.’

                Pouting, Zachary turned back to his coursework, and didn’t notice Marcel quietly texting under the table.

 

* * *

 

 

It was dark by the time Zachary got home.  Not that darkness meant much—this time of year, four in the afternoon felt like eleven at night.  He tugged his phone out of his pocket to use as a torch, sweeping the thin white beam over the drive and front garden before approaching the door.  The fake dog poo was gone, and the door handle was clean, the keyhole unblocked.

                Zachary narrowed his eyes.  No more tricks?

                Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and found the downstairs hallway dark.  A sweep from his phone torch revealed nothing more than the usual scattering of shoes, and Luca’s handbag tucked in the corner.  Zachary plodded upstairs, peering warily around his bedroom before he tucked his laptop away and crept back down.  The TV hummed in the living room, a soft burble of electronic voices and dramatic music.

                Zachary pushed through the door, taking tiny steps to avoid stumbling over any booby-traps his housemates might have left in the entrance.

                Nothing.

                He found them sprawled around the living room, watching what looked like a re-run of _The Vicar of Dibley_.  Luca, snuggled up with Fae on the far end of the sofa, giggled as the vicar on the screen dunked her entire head in a chocolate fountain.

                ‘If you ever get me a chocolate fountain, I promise to do exactly that,’ Luca said.  ‘You’ll have to pull me out.’

                ‘Pull you out?’  Fae kissed Luca’s temple.  ‘I’ll be diving in after you.’

                ‘Hi?’ Zachary mumbled, shuffling further into the room.

                The others looked up, Emeric from the floor where he appeared to be filling an adult colouring book with gopping pink, and Rufus from the other end of the sofa.

                ‘Marcel’s on his way.’  As Zachary said it, keys rattled in the front door behind him.

                ‘Nice!’ Emeric jumped up and darted for the door.  Zachary side-stepped to avoid being bowled over.

                Budging up on the sofa, Rufus waved Zachary over.  ‘C’mon, there’s room.’

                Zachary walked over, but stopped short of sitting down.  ‘Whoopee cushion?’

                Rufus lifted the sofa cushion, revealing nothing but dust and scattered pennies.  ‘You’re safe.’

                Taking his seat, Zachary leaned against the arm of the chair and listened to the sound of Emeric greeting Marcel in the hall, chattering about his day, asking how Marcel’s coursework went, offering to get him a cup of tea.  From the way Emeric went on, you’d think Marcel spent the day trapped in a damp trench surrounded by maniacs wielding flamethrowers, rather than studying quietly in the library.

                Zachary rested his chin on his fist.  Considering _he’d_ spent the day studying quietly the library, he was surprisingly exhausted.  Seven hours of straight paranoia could do that you.  He watched the flickering shapes on the TV, blinking sleepily.  One moment he was in the living room, and felt something warm press up against his arm, and the next he was knee-deep in muddy water, bookcases on all sides, distant screaming echoing in his ears.  A warzone?  No, no, he was in the library.  It was the books.  Books were dangerous weapons.  No.  Books _wielding_ dangerous weapons.  He ducked as a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ leaped at him, swinging a katana.

                _Well that sword isn’t appropriate for a nineteenth-century gothic novel,_ he thought with remarkable clarity, before something squeezed his arm and he woke up with a snort.

                ‘What?’ he said, because he was pretty sure someone had spoken.  He was slumped on the sofa, the TV mumbling away in front of him.  At some point, he’d slipped off the arm rest and drifted in the opposite direction; with a flush he realised the warmth pressing against his arm earlier had been him falling against Rufus.

                Rufus didn’t look terribly worried, though.  He had his hand on Zachary’s wrist, squeezing gently.

                ‘I said “What’s not appropriate for a gothic novel?”,’ Rufus repeated.

                Zachary rubbed his eyes.  ‘A katana.’

                Rufus blinked.  ‘Well.  You’re not wrong.’

                Sitting up, Zachary took a sharp breath, blinking back sleep.  ‘Sorry.’

                ‘No problem.’  Rufus still had his hand on Zachary’s wrist—Zachary knew he ought to shake him off, but he didn’t want to.  ‘The girls are asleep, too.  I was going to put dinner on.  Chilli?’

                Zachary blinked across at Luca and Fae.  They were, indeed, fast asleep, Luca’s head tucked on Fae’s shoulder, Fae’s forehead resting on top of hers.  Luca slept with her mouth slightly open, breathing wheezily.  Fae’s mouth was closed but her eyes were open.  Zachary used to find that unnerving, but he’d gotten used to it after jumping out of his skin the first few times.  Marcel and Emeric were doubtless upstairs, quietly warming each other up in ways Zachary didn’t want to contemplate.

                ‘Mm,’ Zachary murmured.  ‘Yeah, chilli’s good.  None of that horrific hot sauce, though.’

                ‘I’ll have you know that Nora Merle’s Home Brewed Dorset Naga and Scotch Bonnet Chilli Sauce is held in the highest esteem back home.’

                ‘Yes, as a sinus decongester.’

                Rufus chuckled.  He still hadn’t taken his hand off Zachary’s wrist.  Gradually, his smile fell, and he gave Zachary a look that made Zachary’s stomach flip.  ‘Arlen,’ he murmured, ‘I’m sorry about all the pranks this morning.  We thought you’d like them.’

                Rufus really was sitting very, very close.  His knee was almost touching Zachary’s, and despite the winter cold and the student-budget necessitated low central heating, Zachary felt suddenly very warm.

                ‘S’OK,’ he managed, his voice small.

                Rufus shrugged, and the movement pressed his bicep against Zachary’s.  ‘Originally we said we wanted to get back at you, for all the times you got us, but …’ his gaze drifted over to Luca and Fae, each still blissfully asleep, but still Rufus lowered his voice as he continued, ‘… I suppose I really just wanted to impress you.’

                It felt like Zachary had swallowed a golf ball.  ‘Impress me?’  He tried to make the words flat, emotionless, the way Marcel would.  Instead, he squeaked.

                Rufus bit his lip ( _Fuck,_ Zachary thought, _why did I look at his lips?_ ), and leaned closer.  ‘Guess I failed, huh?’

                ‘You don’t need to pull off pranks to impress me, Rufus,’ Zachary said.

And then couldn’t believe he’d said it.

And then didn’t need to think about it anymore—

                Because Rufus leaned in and kissed him.

                Zachary let out another squeak, and spared a moment feeling dismally embarrassed of his total lack of composure, before he realised how warm and soft Rufus’s lips were, and how tight Rufus’s grip had become on his wrist, and how his stomach was buzzing and how for once he was being kissed and didn’t want to pull away.

                Rufus’s other hand traced up over Zachary’s shoulder to the back of his neck, and Zachary tensed— _not my back_ —before Rufus slid his hand up into Zachary’s hair.  Zachary broke the kiss for half a second to gasp, and then grabbed Rufus’s shirt in both hands and dragged him in again.  Rufus hadn’t shaved since semester started, and his beard was past the stage of scratchy, somehow both rough and soft, like tough wool, and his hands and mouth were firm, not hurting but _wanting_ , and—

                Zachary pulled back sharply, blood rushing through his face.  ‘Wait.  Is this another prank?’

                ‘No.’  Rufus’s eyes flicked up over Zachary’s shoulder.  ‘But that is.’

                Zachary turned around just in time for Emeric to upend the bag of flour over his head.

 

* * *

 

 

It ought to have been rage.  Righteous, furious, burning rage, enough for him to spring over the sofa and tackle Emeric to the ground.  But instead, as Emeric folded over laughing, Marcel smirking in the doorway behind him, and Fae and Luca miraculously woke up in time to cling to each other in hysterics, all Zachary felt was a stab of disappointment.

                He turned to Rufus, who had tears of laughter in his eyes.  ‘You look like a hurt kitten,’ he wheezed, reaching up to dust white powder out of Zachary’s hair.

                With a small burst of effort, Zachary managed to arrange his face into an expression of faint irritation.  ‘I’ll give you points for effort,’ he said dryly, ‘even I’ve never been callous enough to seduce someone into a prank.’

                ‘You need to know what your victim wants,’ Marcel said softly, grinning in the doorway.

                Zachary shot him a look of deepest loathing.

                ‘Don’t look so miserable,’ Rufus said, brushing flour off his own shoulders.

                ‘You,’ Zachary stabbed a finger at him, ‘are a lying scumbag, Rufus Merle.’

                In response, Rufus leaned in and kissed him again.

                For a moment, Zachary was frozen.  Then he jerked back.  ‘What—but—you—but—’

                Across the sofa, Luca snorted.  ‘Boys are so dense.  Only _part_ the plan was to get revenge for all your pranks,’ she said.  ‘The other part was to end two and a half years of unbearable UST by getting you idiots together.’  She leaned around Rufus to poke Zachary’s arm.  ‘Rufus has been flirting with you since the day you met, and you obviously like him back, but you’re so clueless you wouldn’t do a thing about it.’

                ‘Buh?’ said Zachary, who seemed to have lost the ability to form full words.

                ‘Of course,’ Fae added with a wicked grin, ‘getting prank-revenge on you sweetened the deal.’

                Zachary’s head whipped from one of them to another, his eyes wide and lost.  He reached Marcel, who shrugged.

                ‘I was only in it for the revenge.’

                Finally, Zachary turned back to Rufus.  Flour was caked in his moustache from that second kiss.  Zachary stared for another moment, feeling as though the gears in his brain had somehow got stuck.

                Then he swiped a finger over Rufus’s powdery moustache, and burst out laughing.

 


End file.
